Michael did his best to keep fighting, but Victor did not go easy on him, not for a second. Every strike Victor threw carried terrifying weight. His fists slammed into Michael’s guard like sledgehammers, rattling his bones and forcing air from his lungs. Michael’s vision blurred at the edges, sweat and blood stinging his eyes as he staggered backward again and again. He refused to fall, even when his legs trembled and his arms felt like dead weight. Somewhere far from the estate now, Celia was already being taken away in a car, escorted through dark roads to safety. She didn’t know the details of what was happening behind her, only that Michael was still there, still fighting. Her hands were clasped tightly in her lap, lips moving silently as she prayed over and over for him to survive. Back under the floodlights, Michael sucked in a harsh breath. His chest burned. His ribs screamed. His body begged him to stop. But he wouldn’t. “I’m not done.” He muttered, more to himself than an

“The signs were always there.” Celia said quietly as she placed the medical kit on the nightstand. She had just finished changing Michael’s bandages, her movements were now careful and practiced after three days of doing the same routine over and over. White gauze wrapped around his ribs and shoulder, faint stains marking where the wounds were still healing. He looked better than the first night they brought him back, less pale and more alert, but the stiffness in his posture and the way he exhaled through clenched teeth when he moved said everything words didn’t. It had been three days since Celia’s rescue. Three days since the chaos at the Blackwood estate, since blood stained marble and grass, since gunfire and screams and the sound of a life ending. Three days since they had returned to the cabin on the outskirts of the city, the same one that once felt like a temporary hideout, now reduced to a place of recovery because they no longer had a home in the heart of the city to ret

Adrian and Richard were still frozen at the mention of the name Scofield. For a few seconds, the cabin felt smaller, the air heavier, as if the walls themselves were pressing in on them. Richard was the first to move. He stood up so abruptly that his side of the couch shifted back on the wooden floor. “No.” He said, shaking his head once, firmly, as if trying to physically shake the words out of the room. “I get that you’re in a desperate position right now, Michael, but lying about something like this?” He let out a short, humorless laugh. “I suggest you stop it.” Adrian remained seated, but his expression had hardened. Gone was the casual arrogance, replaced by something closer to disbelief mixed with irritation. “Do you have any idea what you’re risking by throwing that name around?” His eyes locked onto Michael. “The Scofields aren’t some bedtime story. That name alone weighs more than every powerful family in this city combined.” Barry scoffed, stepping forward. “Hey, who sai

Richard repeated slowly, as if tasting the words, “Sparring partners.” “Yes.” Michael replied casually, “Just this one time. I haven't had proper training in a long time, I need something to get my blood pumping.” Richard let out a short scoff and tilted his head. “You think you can take us both?” Michael’s lips curved, not quite a smile. “Well, I hope not. It wouldn’t be fun if I could beat you two up at the same time.” That did it. Richard reached up, slid his glasses off, and folded them with care before setting them on a nearby stump. He gently took off his jacket and draped it beside them, then rolled his sleeves up, revealing forearms already marked with faint scars, old reminders of a life that hadn’t been nearly as clean as his tailored suits suggested. “Ready when you are.” He said, all humor gone, his voice sharp with intent. Adrian cracked his neck once, then twice, before pulling off his outer sweater and tossing it aside. “Don’t say we didn’t warn you.” The two me

The two men didn’t rush them. They didn’t shout threats or lunge forward like amateurs. Instead, they stood there calmly, knives held low at their sides, and their eyes were steady and unwavering. The kind of composure that came from having already accepted the outcome of what they were about to do. One of them spoke first. “We’re acting on Lady Mira’s request.” The words landed heavier than the knives ever could. “To kill you.” The other added flatly. For a heartbeat, no one moved. Then Michael laughed. It was sharp and disbelieving, edged with something cold that made even the two attackers hesitate. “Mira sent two of you?” He said, tilting his head slightly. “Is this how weak she sees me?” Barry snorted despite the tension. “You sure about this, guys? You’re really gonna go after a dude who literally punched down a whole tree just a few hours ago?” The men didn’t respond. Their silence confirmed everything Michael already knew. He stepped forward slightly and said without lo